Fifty Shades of Edgeworth
by The Generic Overlord
Summary: Maya Fey is interviewing Miles Edgeworth. For what? Who knows. But one thing led to another. Next thing she knows, the "brownish grayish" - or should I say, "brownish greyish" eyed man made her inner goddess scream... Wow, Maya writes terrible self-inserts. (PW kink meme fill, Miles x Maya, smut, 50SoG parody)


**Fifty Shades of Edgeworth**

Miles Edgeworth. That is his name. I know that Nick and him were childhood friends, and now, they are regular rivals in court. Mr. Edgeworth is dashing, smooth, and just overall the peak of male perfection of handsomeness; unlike Nick, Mr. Edgeworth is the type that appears to be dominant, monetarily successful, and suave - and he has this certain male bravado to him that submissives will keel over to. And the way he makes even the most mundane courtroom trials interesting raises the ordinary to extraordinary. Yet I have to hold my expectations back. I haven't really talked to him as much as I would like to, so I've got only an inkling of knowledge about him. Still, it truly is surprising that such a man exists.

"Ms. Fey. As you were saying?" Oh! He startled me! "You were looking at me for a rather long time. Is there something about me that caught your eye?" Mr. Edgeworth is staring at me with those brownish grayish eyes - or should I say, brownish greyish eyes? "Would you rather stare at me all day or would you rather continue interviewing me?" His voice is deep and had a pique of sophistication, like warm pasta made by the finest cooks in Gatewater... or anything akin to that, "I mean, I don't mind if you stare at me -"

"I - I - I'm so sorry Mr. Edgeworth." I have to act cool, but I can feel my cheeks burn a bright red. Yes. Red. The color red; as red as the _Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung_. If he catches me like this - no, Maya Fey, get yourself together. You're interviewing him, "I'm uh - let's continue the interview, shall we? Uh." I'm already stuttering, "Mr. Edgeworth, to what do you owe your success as a prosecutor to?" Smooth, Maya, smooth.

He gets up and sits on the chair across from me. He then continues to stare at me with those brownish grayish or brownish greyish eyes. And from the latter lobe of my brain - most definitely located in the posterior area of my occipital lobe where my visual cortex dwells - is currently processing the visual information of what I'm seeing and is coming to my thoughts: he's going to say something to me, "Oh, I just exercise control in all of my trials, Miss Fey," he says without an inkling of humor in his subliminal smirk, "Or, should I say, all things within my reach?"

"I see." He's still staring at me. Those eyes have such history of power in court; I have seen it for myself, "I mean, I have seen you face off against Nick - I mean... Mr. Wright. I, uh." Jeez. I need to be professional at a time like this, so I cleared my throat. What should I ask him now? "Anyways, Mr. Edgeworth, I would like to know more about you - more about your personal interests." I want to hide behind my clipboard.

He reclines back. God, oh my, I can't help but continue to eye every ridge of his face and his subliminal smirk. I can't help but wonder what he has in store for me. Maybe a hundred dollar question? "I'm not as entertaining in my personal life as you think I am, Miss Maya Fey." He grinned, "All I do is play chess for fun. That's all." If a man of his kind plays chess, then I guess chess must be one hella sexy hobby, "So, instead of talking about me..." He crosses his legs, "Let's talk about you. I'd like to know more about you."

He wants to know more about me? Oh, no. My cheeks are turning into the color of the _Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung_ again, "I'm not a very interesting person at all, you know me well enough to know that I'm just a simple channeler. I mean... Well..." I'm giggling like a little girl. How old am I? Eight? "Just look at me."

"... I am." He is, and I could tell. Those brownish greyish eyes are scanning me, and I could feel them physically eating me up like a pudgy kid on free hamburgers day, "Don't take it too personally, but I have been." Mr. Edgeworth's tone of voice is so... so administrative; I have heard countless stories that he's a man of good self control. If you take the way he dresses into account, I can visualize him as an early 1920's kinda Charlie Chaplin movie where the director is wearing a classy Victorian era esque (I think?) suit - but without a silly bowler hat - telling what to do without speaking at all. He really knows his words around women, and my inner female version of the Greek god of desire and lust, Eros, is swaying in a nervous cha cha slide, "When I look at you, I can't help but think that you're... How should I say it... Quite the entertaining girl."

My inner female Eros is punching me in the gut, "Are you sure? I mean. Well, I know you think channeling isn't real, so I doubt that's entertaining." Maybe I should pull a joke, "The most entertaining part other than that is that I like burgers and Steel Samurai." Way to go, Maya. That just killed your chances of ever making a good impression.

"You like the Steel Samurai?"

"Yeah. I... Can't lie there." I'm doomed anyway, so why should I lie? I mean, he should've already known about it to begin with, "I really love the show. It's awesome. I know only kids like it and stuff. I got a bunch of memorabilia, and haven't I or Nick told you about my love of Steel Samurai before? I do remember you prosecuting for a trial where the actor got accused for killing someone."

Mr. Edgeworth stood up and walked towards me, "Yes I do. I know you do. Oh, and Ms. Fey, look at my windowsill." He pointed there, so I looked. What I saw is a large, Steel Samurai figurine. But not just any figurine - it was a limited edition one that I've been keeling over to get for years... Wait. Does this mean he likes the Steel Samurai, too? "You've been to my office before, so there's no need to be shy about liking the Steel Samurai."

"... You like the Steel Samurai, too?"

"Indeed. But I guess not as much as you, I guess." He inches closer to me, "Maybe I should call you Ms. Steel?" He can make jokes as well? Now my heart is pounding; my inner Eros is about to kill me at any given second. But... Without my knowledge, he pulls me by arm, picks me up and slams me onto the carpet.

"Oww! Jeez!" That hurt! What the hell is he doing? "Mr. Edgeworth... What are you doing?!" Did I say something to anger him? Okay, I can play the meek Penny interviewer, but even I have my limits... Yet when I gaze into his piercing brownish grayish or brownish greyish eyes, the small, yet important part of my brain - more or likely my Hypothalamus, where the control of my body temperature dwells - turns up my body heat to feverish levels as I had no need to hypothesize what he has in mind, "... You're..."

The way he pinned me down needed no calculus equation to solve his underlying intentions with me. My face feels like it's burning a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, "You're not the professional type of girl; I know that." His warm breath has a scent of mint tea. It smells oddly wonderful, sending a chill down my spine, "You know how trivial interviews are. Interviews are so... artificial." The way he uses such words is electrifying, and I think my cheeks are burning in a thousand degrees Celsius, not Fahrenheit, because it's hotter than Fahrenheit. Holy hell, "You're acting so stiff, hiding behind some sort of professional facade. I know how you really are, Maya." He's calling me by my first name! "I want you to act normally... I want to see that professional facade gone." His hand touches my arm.

I flinched like a small spark of static shocked me. I can't believe that with just his simple touch... How he just touches a small area of my body... And then next thing I realize is that my estrogens are flying like birds... I can't believe something so simple as an interview led to this! I have no idea whether I should just run away - "Mr..." Or if I should just stay and let my inner Eros dance, "Mr. Edgeworth..."

"Shh..." He hushed me. I can feel that his hands are traveling, conforming to the left side of my body. I'm embarrassed about my lack of curves. Mr. Edgeworth stares at me with those brownish greyish eyes again, eating me from within. Those eyes, they scream a carnal desire for me, "This isn't an interview any more, Maya; ergo, there's no need for formalities."

"Mr. Edgeworth -"

"Call me Miles." And without hesitation, I can feel droughty, yet balmy lips clash into mine. The way Mr. Edgeworth - no - Miles' lips softly chafe with mine felt like a schoolgirl's long lived desires had been rewarded with candy. My tiny inner Eros is that schoolgirl, and it's rewarding me with this sudden burst of divine, guilty-pleasure ecstasy. And his hands are still traveling down my body, heading south - holy cow! He's undoing my acolyte robes... But why should I be thinking about such trifle things? Right now, my inner Eros is telling me to indulge in Miles Edgeworth's nectarous kiss. Oh my, how I longed for the taste of a real, licensed, and distinguished man's efficacious lips.

I could only whisper "Miles" under my stressed voice. To have the privilege to call him by his given name is more than graciously satisfying, "Oh!" I let myself moan, still muffled by his kiss. His free hand lightly grasps the right side of the top of my head, gently caressing my hair. He kisses me harder; his teeth lightly biting my lip - I can tell he knows what he's doing, and I can tell that he knows how I have no idea what I'm doing. Miles definitely has had some first-hand experience with kissing. I'm not sure if he's gay or bi or pansexual or whatever, so I have no idea where his lips have been. But whatever. Who cares? He's mine right now, bitch.

"You're quite the adorable one, Maya." He grabs me by my waist oh so suddenly and yanks me up, as he slowly pushes me against the wall. Miles continued to undo my acolyte robes, going through the layers of my clothes, peeling each layer off like an onion. And like peeling an onion, I began to quietly sob... But out of pleasure, not from the actual amino acid sulfoxides from the onion turning into sulfenic acids (I stole Nick's old Bio textbook and I think that's what happens) or whatever, "Quite adorable, indeed." He continues to kiss me, forcefully opening my mouth ajar with his tongue, taking no objections from my lips. That definitely took my breath away, "So, Maya. How about we take this moment one step further?"

"What do you mean?" I obfuscated a childish innocence. I secretly wanted to tempt him a little. My inner Eros nodded in concurrence. (It probably gave me a thumbs up.) I bit my lower lip to tease him a bit, "Are you saying that you've got further plans than just kissing?"

"Really? You're asking that kind of question?" Miles chuckles as he took his left hand off of my head, then proceeded to start undoing his pants - first, he undid his belt. It's an expensive looking leather belt, but I'm sure a prosecutor of his sophistication and prowess could afford an airplane full of them. I think it's Giorgio Armani or Paul Smith? No. It's definitely Giorgio Armani, "You're a smart girl. You know exactly what's next." The next thing he did was unbutton his button, unzip his pants, then slowly pulled it down. I noticed his soldier was standing at attention with only the black fabric hiding it, "Pull your underwear down." He commands me.

I did exactly as he says. The warm air feels odd going through the lower half of my body. The nakedness of my female body feels alien to what I'm used to. Yet somehow, my inner Eros is jumping up and down, applauding in horny glee.

"Good. Now wrap your legs around me." Once again, I did as he says, "Try not to fall of." I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck. Miles winked at me with one of his brownish grayish or greyish eyes - you know what? Fuck adjectives. Miles Edgeworth's sly seductive grin and alluring stare are too fucking tantalizing for long-winded adjectives, "I don't want my little Miss Steel to fall off with what I'm about to do to you." Finally, after his final joke, he pulls down the last barrier of clothing, ready to take me - ready to take my inner Eros for the ride of its life, "If you don't know the answer, I'll spell it out for you, Maya." He whispers into my ear. I can feel him ready to penetrate the walls of my pure immaculacy, "I'm gonna fuck you... Hard."

And with one final pause, the moment of truth happened. I could feel him inside of me all in a matter of several milliseconds. Holy fuck. I cry out in the inception of my new sexual life. It hurts a little; I admit... Yet I can't help but think to myself: holy fuck this is wrong... but holy hell is it erotic, "YES!" My inner Eros is rewarding me again, letting every drop of pent up pleasure glide through my veins. I could only arch my back. The way he moves in and out of me - such a pleasure I haven't felt in my entire life.

I can hear him whispering my name, but padded with short, silent chuckles. The way Miles breaths heavily into my ear, holy cow... My mouth drops, letting my moans escape at the way he rotates his hips, subsequently rotating his soldier inside of my once fortified female castle, invading her - crumbling her walls with a combination of his battering ram and the ecstasy catapulted at her walls with a trebuchet. Oh my, what an invasion. "You like this, do you, Maya?"

Holy fuck this is mind boggling, "Of - of course." Oh my. I can barely contain myself; this is just breathtaking. The sensation radiates throughout my entire body with every move he makes. And each thrust proves his experience between the sheets, on his desk, on the floor, on the wall (where he's at right now), or wherever there's enough room for his inner animal to roam. I could tell that his history is a long list of names of those who are lucky enough to feel the carnal rage of his sexual ardor. I feel so privileged to have my name written there, "OH!" But I can't think too long about anything other than this moment. My inner Eros - my inner goddess, she speaks to me in languages - in tongues I know nothing about. It wasn't English, Japanese, Estonian, Urdu, Spanish, or Pennsylvania German. I think it's the language of pure, sexual pleasure.

Oh god, holy hell, I can't take it any more. I don't know how much time has passed, but my inexperienced body can't handle this much pleasure. The pressure builds up in the lower half of my body. I have no idea whether Miles is reaching his limit, but I know I am. But I have to hold on. His every move, his every thrust, his every exhale... They send me to levels of what I can only assume is insanity - but insanity is only a legal definition (look it up) - I think the better term to describe what levels they are... Let's just say that every moment Miles moves him and me sends me to levels of pleasurable psychosis. And if I have to go through more levels of it, my inner goddess might have to be escorted into an insane asylum.

He whispers my name, "Maya." Miles whispers other things. But holy hell, I can't think. All I can do is arch my back from this god-send of ecstasy. And I can't process anything else. I have no idea what's happening to my body. If I hold out any longer, I might have to tell my sanity "laters, baby" and just lose my mind. And I can't keep up. I'm going insane. Maybe...

I think I did.

* * *

"Maya, what is this?" Nick is holding my special notebook. I could feel the pit of my stomach, "I found this on my desk." Oh no, I can't believe I left it on Nick's desk. I was searching for it and now here it is, in the defendant's lobby, in the hands of the person I dread the most to find it... Maybe he didn't read it? "Are you writing self insert fanfiction or something?"

Oh fuck, my worst fears came true. He did read it, "Nick! Give it back! It's just..." I tried to swipe it out of his hand, but Nick raised it above his head. Damn it! "You shouldn't even be reading my stuff."

"How should I know it's yours? Besides, it's too late now. I already read your little Fifty Shades of Cravat. And it's actually kinda lame."

Jerk. I can't believe we're having this discussion in the courthouse, "I prefer Fifty Shades of Edgeworth, thank you very much."

"Fifty Shades of what?" A familiar voice could be heard behind me. Oh no. Oh no. I turn around - oh no, it's him. It's Mr. Edgeworth, "Wright, what's that notebook?"

"Oh, it's Maya's book of -"

"Nick! I will kill you if you -"

"Why don't you go read it for yourself?" That asshole! He threw it at Mr. Edgeworth who catches it mid-air, "It's a good one, too."

Mr. Edgeworth began skimming through the pages, and I could feel the pit of my stomach jump off a building. His eyes are looking through the pages... And... His eyes went wide open. Oh no... My life is ruined.

"Mr. Edgeworth, I can explain..." I'm screwed, and Nick is laughing behind me. Damn it. Damn it all to hell, and damn him.

He was silent as he closed it. I was ready to die and keel over from a heart attack, "Maya... I need to talk to you. Privately." Oh no... He's going to kill me behind the courthouse isn't he?

"Y - Yes, Mr. Edgeworth." I can already imagine what's going to be on my gravestone: Here lies Maya Fey, author of self insert pornography. I guess it's time to face death head on.

* * *

Mr. Edgeworth led me to what I can only assume is an office or something. He closes the door behind him, walks toward the office chair and sits on it. He urged me to sit down on the chair in front of the desk. I can only imagine how angry he is to find out that he's the guy I fuck in my self insert porn. I have to apologize or something, "Uh... Look, I'm sorry I wrote that, and I'm sorry you had to read it." I hung my head down low, ready to face his wrath, "I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth."

There was a long moment of silence on his side. I expected something to be thrown at me or a bullet shot into my brain. But out of nowhere, he smirked and simply chuckled, "Call me Miles."

* * *

Lyre: WTF did I just write? Anyway, thanks for reading. This was done entirely for fun.


End file.
